From the Mouth of Babes

My latest conversations with my youngest hypochondriac actor of a son (He’s in 2nd grade)… 

This was a conversation after a whole day of him complaining about his tummy hurting.  After conning me into staying home, receiving two helpings of jello, a free blockbuster Disney movie, and extra TLC that had me hanging out with him all day on the sofa we had this conversation:

Son: Good news, my tummy is better- I’m not gonna die. Probably just gas.
Me: Well no one ever died from gas.
Son: Of course they have- if your stomach fills up with gas and it has nowhere for it to go you could explode and die!

We then had a lengthy discussion about his fear of death. It went like this:

Son:I’m afraid of dying.
Me: dying?
Son: Shhh don’t say it.
Me: We all die, but not till we’re like 90.
Son: I know. Which is why I never want to grow up, then I won’t die. You- you’re closer to ninety- you’ll probably die first.
Me: Does that scare you?
Son: a little.
Me: Let’s make a pack that we’ll never age.
Son: mommy, you know we can’t do that. But I do plan on growing up and becoming very very rich.
Me: why do you want to be rich?
Son: So I can come up with a cure to keep you alive forever. Plus I want to buy a lot of candy.
Me: What else would you do with a lot of money?
Son: Remember when we were in New York, and I gave a dollar to a poor person on the street?
Me: Yes.
Son: that felt important, that’s what I want to do, make a difference.
Me: As long as you spend your life making a difference to others, you never really ever die because your deeds will live on for eternity.
Son: That’s cool. Can we have ice cream now?
Me: Are you still afraid of dying?
Son: not as much, but I am afraid of having more gas.

This next little conversation was my way of infusing art and culture into my child which proved futile.

2.
Me: I’m going to a concert- wanna come?
Son: What is a concert?
Me: A performance with singers and dancers.
Son: Will I be able to sing and dance too?
Me: No, you watch others perform using song and dance.
Son: Is there a dance floor?
Me: No.
Son: Well what’s the fun in that?  Nope. I don’t want to go.